Ghost of You
by Milsean1
Summary: I stare into those eyes and I can almost pretend that he's still alive. I feel Finnick's presence so strongly I want to weep.  Mockingjay Spoilers


I stare into those eyes and I can almost pretend that he's still alive.

My son's eyes are the sea-green foam of Finnick's eyes. Beautiful. He's mainly Finnick – which is good and bad. Good because he lives on...Bad because every time I think of Finnick my chest tightens and I want to lie down where ever I am and sleep. To just escape the reality that he's gone.

My son has long eyelashes that frame his gorgeous eyes. I see Finnick in his mouth. I see me in his nose. I see Finnick in the curls on his head. Me in the colour of his hair.

I sit on a bench, looking out the beach, smiling to myself. I know that deep into the night, under the light of the moon, Finnick and I came out and lay on the beach. We would talk, laugh, comfort one another. And...after a while...we came together as one. We fitted into one another like two puzzle pieces. In the night I gaze out the window of my room, long after my son's asleep, I'd think of how he touched me.

My chest tightens and tears prick my eyes. Oh no. I can feel myself closing up, curling up on the bench, stuffing my fists into my ears, blocking out the noises surronding me. I whimper. I used to think of my time in the arena...no...I just picture the different ways Finnick was murdered.

No one told me how they killed him. I suppose it's better that way. Except that I imagine him being ripped to shreds. Right now, I think that he was probably shot. I hope he was shot. That way, it was over quickly.

I know deep down that they would not be so merciful.

I whimper again and rock forward and back. I feel a slight tug on my wrist and I open my eyes and gaze into Finnick's eyes. I feel slightly disappointed when I realise it's not Finnick's eyes, but my son's. But then my heart swells again and happiness fills ever fiber of my being.

Finnick used to be the only person in the whole of Panem that could calm me. Not any more. My son looks at me with such concern that I uncurl myself from my little ball and pull him into a hug. "Mommy?" his whispers in my ear. He still calls me Mommy despite his age. That's okay. I prefer it like that. "Are you okay?"

I hold him out arms length. I've seen the look he gives me in Finnick's face. And I think maybe life doesn't have to be so hard. Finnick's with me in my son. He's holding a melting mint ice-cream with chocolate chips in one hand. I glance over his shoulder and send a smile at Lavinia Mellark. She smiles back – but I don't miss the look of concern that flashes across her face for a moment.

But she understands. Unlike many others of my son's friends, Lavinia doesn't back away scared or flinch when I go into my own little world. Because Lavinia Mellark has the same problem with her parents. She understands because there are times when Peeta has flashbacks and has to calm himself down and has a few hours of pure self loathing or when Katniss gets a few moments of pure depression and Peeta has to remind her who she was and how much the whole family love her.

She has her own mint ice cream in her hand. Lavinia has her mother's beautiful long dark brown and her father's bright blue eyes. She's younger than my son, but he looks after her when Peeta, Katniss, Lavinia and Darius visit. I sometimes see Lavinia gazing at my son and I wonder when she's older will they become more than friends. I hope so. I think Finnick would've liked that.

I turn my attention back to my son and smile reassuring him that I'm okay. "I'm fine...just remembering your father," My son looks sad and I feel bad that I did that to him. But then he lets out a deep breath and smiles, before pulling me in for a hug.

I love him very much.

As much as I loved Finnick.

I know Finnick would've never let me name our son what I did. But I did it anyway. Whenever I think of his reaction, I giggle. People look at me funny. Our beautiful son. Who is kind, and gentle, and even inherited Finnick's sense of humour – which helps keep his memory live on, but also means he comes up with rude jokes that earn him a clip in the ear even though I try not laugh.

_I stare at Annie and want to take her in my arms and kiss her, touch her, make love to her. But I can't. It's just enough to watch her and my son grow up. I tell her when she sleeps how much I love her and she murmurs in her sleep that she loves me back. Every time she says it I feel happiness swell in my chest. I sit beside her on the bench. Well, sitting is an exageration. I more float beside her, brushing a kiss on her cheek but I more drift through her cheek. I sigh. I look at our son and think what a wonderful person he is. I can't believe we created him. I look back at Annie, expecting her to look at me with the same expression of affection. But she doesn't. Because she probably doesn't even realize I'm watching over her._

I shiver and touch my cheek. For some reason, I feel Finnick's presence so strongly I want to weep. My son just tosses his ice-cream over his shoulder and hugs me properly. Oh how I love him. My beautiful boy.

My little Finnick Jr.


End file.
